


The sticky situation

by Self_conscious_mess



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adopted Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Peter Parker, Bucky has two (2) braincells, Established Relationship, Fluff, Irondad, M/M, Parent Bucky Barnes, Parent Tony Stark, Parenting hazards, Peter's giving them heart attacks, Poor Bucky and Tony, Team as Family, Tony and Bucky are trying their best, Tony has many dad hormones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_conscious_mess/pseuds/Self_conscious_mess
Summary: Tony and Bucky have a bit of a scare when they realise that their son's hands are inexplicably sticky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 45
Kudos: 349





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt I did for my gf! It was "sticky" - that much was probably obvious - and I know her well enough to know that she gave me this prompt to get me to write smut... So of course, I went the other way and wrote fluffy fluff. I'm insufferable like that

"Honey, I'm home!" Tony called out as soon as he closed the door to the penthouse, toeing his shoes off at the same time.

He allowed himself to bask in the warmth that lit up his entire body when he heard Bucky call out right back with a "Welcome home, baby!"

From the sound of it, his husband was in the bathroom, and still in the shower. If it were just the year before, Tony would have run to the bathroom and jumped under the spray to have some steamy shower sex with Bucky in a matter of seconds. But right there, right now, there was one thing he wanted to do more than anything in the world, taking precedence even over joining Bucky and kissing him silly after a full day apart, and his feet led him where he wanted to without delay, guiding him further into the penthouse.

The door to the nursery was ajar, as they always left it, and Tony entered the room on his tippy toes. His heart sized in his chest when his eyes fell on the cutest baby the world had ever known – he was _not_ biased, this was _fact_. His son was wide awake, lying in his crib, snug in his sleeping shark onesie, and staring right back at him with huge and adorable brown eyes, babbling happily at the sight of his father. Tony wondered, not for the first time, if it was possible to die of happiness. He cooed at his son and reached down to take him in his arms.

"Hey there Petey-pie, light of my life, _tesoro mio_. I missed you so much today," Tony whispered, burying his head in Peter's soft brown curls, breathing in the soft scent of the tear-free apple shampoo they washed his hair with.

He spun round on his feet just to hear Peter squeal with delight, before leaning back to take in the huge smile that graced his son's face. It had been a tough decision, and a tough process, when Tony and Bucky decided to adopt. Knowing they had not the best past, nor the best baggage. Knowing their everyday life was not the easiest, nor the safest, and that they would have to change their ways to be able to offer the child the most normal life they could. But that smile. That smile made it all worth it.

Right at this instant, Peter tried to lift his left hand to tap at his father's cheek – Tony was always thankful in these moments that he didn't have Bucky's long hair, which more often than not ended up tangled up in Peter’s fingers, and then his husband had to endure their son pulling at the strands with gusto, and with quite an enthusiastic amount of strength –, but something went wrong.

Tony's blazer was coming up along with Peter's hand, even though it didn't look like the boy had grasped it in his fist. On the contrary, Peter was looking at his hand and at the offensive fabric with a ridiculously small and adorable frown, and began to give small pats to Tony's torso, trying to shake off the blazer, expressing his indignation with a series of sharp "Bah!"

Tony cocked his head, perplexed. He reached down and gently grabbed his son's tiny wrist to try and see what was happening.

"What's going on, Pete, _tesorino_? What's that on your hand?"

Peter's hand seemed curiously glued to Tony's blazer. Tony frowned. He looked to the side and realized that, even though Peter had not noticed yet, the baby's right hand also seemed to be glued to Tony's clothes. Peter didn't look frightened in the least – he rather looked like he enjoyed trying to shake the feeling off by tapping his father's torso – but surely it wouldn't be long before he changed his mind about it, so Tony tried to keep the interior freak-out well, interior, and the urgency out of his voice when he called for his husband.

"Bucky, darling? Would you mind coming right here immediately? Like right now, _pronto_? Quickly quick?"

Fortunately, Bucky was perceptive enough not to dawdle, and barged in the room barely a second later.

"What?? Doll, what's going on?"

Tony mourned the fact that he did not have the time to linger on his husband's state of undress – straight out of the shower, droplets of water still clinging to his bare skin, only a towel hanging low around his hips, yum – but they had more urgent matters at hand. AH. At hand. Tony was hilarious even in trying times.

"Buckaroo, care to explain why our son's hands are sticky? Wait, let me rephrase that – why are our son's hands apparently COVERED IN SUPERGLUE????"

Okay. So much for not freaking out. Peter had frozen in place, looking up at Tony with his huge doe eyes, and he asked, quietly: "Da?"

Immediately, Tony soothed him with affectionate nonsense and words of reassurance.

"It's alright Petey-pie, we're going to find a solution, glue is fun, don't you worry, you’ll be fine, you’re just going to be our super sticky son for a bit, it’s alright."

"Tony..." Bucky began, and his tone was soft and even, but his eyes were worried. "He was clean and fine when I put him down for his nap a few hours ago… I don't know how he ended up like that."

Tony bit his lip, and gently bounced Peter in his arms. "Okay, let's keep our cool, and try to find answers."

For the following fifteen minutes, they went over the whole nursery with a fine-tooth comb, Tony fussing over Peter and instructing Bucky where to look while the super soldier was doing all the heavy lifting.

But they could never find the guilty tube of glue. Or anything bearing any kind of close resemblance to glue, for that matter.

They were starting to get desperate when, all of a sudden, Peter reached up and tapped Tony's cheeks with a happy giggle. Tony exclaimed in surprise, and Bucky rushed over to the two loves of his life. They could not find any sticky residue of any sort on Peter's hands, which straight up didn't make any sense. It was as if all of the incident had been but a dream.

They allowed themselves to relax when nothing else out of the ordinary happened for the rest of the evening, and eventually settled for a more or less rational explanation, namely, that Peter had probably drooled all over his hands in his sleep and that it had been a bit sticky when he had woken up, but that Tony and Bucky had blown the thing out of proportion by panicking.

And thus, the case was closed.

Until the day Bucky entered the nursery in the morning, and found Peter on the ceiling.

But that particular event was the beginning of a much larger story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I received wonderful comments when I first posted this story, which was supposed to be a small one-shot, and it gave me so much motivation and inspiration this basically wrote itself. It's really crackish, don't expect much, but I hope you'll like it anyway!

It was a Thursday morning, which meant absolutely nothing. In fact, of all Thursday mornings, that particular Thursday morning had the potential to be the most insignificant.

There had been no Avenging alarm, no early meeting at SI, no binge-working until the wee-hours of the night. Bucky had woken up wrapped around a sound asleep Tony, and that was all.

And that right there, was why Bucky had decided, at that moment, that this particular morning was a damn perfect morning.

Bucky contemplated staying right where he was, tucked behind his husband, and maybe going back to sleep for a while, or – a second, more and more tempting option – kissing the secret spot behind Tony's hear, _reaaally_ softly, to make him squirm and stir from dreamland – and then probably being swatted to death because Tony. Was. Not. A. Morning. Person.

But there was something to grumpy-sleepy Tony that had always appealed to Bucky, for some reason. And well, there was also the fact that Bucky couldn't help but want to mess with his husband a little. Tony might even be game for some slow and gentle morning sex – that would be a good way to kick-start the day for sure.

But just then, the baby monitor turned on, and small giggles came through. Bucky's brain did a full 360 from Horny Mchornface to Dad Mode. Peter was awake.

Tony did the little mumbly sound that he did when he was deeply asleep but had heard his son, and was trying to emerge. Bucky couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face even if he wanted to.

He leaned over, kissed Tony's temple, and murmured in his ear: "I got this sweetheart, go back to sleep."

Tony mumbled a bit more but settled eventually, and burrowed further into the blankets when Bucky extricated himself from their embrace, depriving his husband of his own personal living furnace. He threw on the first shirt he could lay his hands on and a pair of sweatpants before making his way to the nursery.

Early light was filtering through the blinds in the living-room – they always left those half-opened for difficult sleepless nights, so they could wander around without switching the lights on –, which told Bucky that, although it was not quite appropriate morning-time according to Tony Stark standards, it was definitely not an unusual hour for Peter to be awake.

Bucky hummed under his breath, already pleased with the day. He would get Peter out of bed, give him his bottle on the couch while watching the end of the sunrise, and then cook breakfast with his son perched on his hip, singing him his favourite morning song.

Bucky entered the nursery, announcing his arrival with a low "Good morning, Petya, you wanna get-"

Bucky's heart skipped a frightening beat when his eyes fell on the empty crib. Immediately, his training took over, and, his eyes scanned the whole room, only for Bucky to have another goddamn heart attack when they found his son. On. The. Freaking. Ceiling.

"UP??" the end of Bucky's sentence escaped his lips, unbidden and a _tad_ too loud.

Peter, in all his dinosaur-onesie-wearing glory, was stuck upside-down on the ceiling, a beaming smile on his face.

Bucky's brain went blank.

On the record, Bucky would like it to be said that he did _not_ stay there, gaping, for more than five seconds.

For realsies, it was probably more like ten. At least. But not much more.

Anyway, Bucky decided that the way to go was to completely _ignore_ the why for the time being, and to focus on how to get Peter the hell down the ceiling.

And he did not have much time either. His temporary loss of control other the volume of his voice had apparently carried all the way to their bedroom through the baby monitor, and he heard Tony call out, drowsily:

"Is everything okay, Jamie?"

And well. Tony could _not_ see this. He would flip the fuck out and probably even faint.

Fuckity fuck. Bucky could _not_ handle two problems at a time.

He answered Tony with a loud but surprisingly calm "Everything's peachy doll, don't worry!" and turned back to his son, who was still having the time of his life on the ceiling.

"What are you doing up here, uh? The ceiling's plain white, can't be that interesting, _luchik_. Don't ya wanna come down?" Bucky murmured, soothing, while he reached up and tried to grab Peter, only to realize that – he was kinda too short.

It was only a few centimetres' gap, but it was there. The ceiling was too high.

Bucky's pride took a hit.

He barely resisted swearing like a sailor at the realization. Okay, what he was going to do was not really safe, but... but his son was on the ceiling and his brain offshore, give him a break.

"Come on Petya, just let go, okay? I'll catch ya, you can trust me." Bucky said, praying that Tony wasn't catching that through the baby monitor. He would _kill_ him.

But Peter looked straight in Bucky's eyes, declared "Bah!" with astonishing nerve, and crawled at top speed away from his dad, towards the corner of the room, giggling all the while.

Dear Lord. The woods had gotten even woodier and Bucky was definitely not out of them.

Time for a change of plan.

"Okay, I get it, the ceiling's cool, no problem _luchik_ , no problem. Just, stay here, okay? Don't move! Or like – don't unstick or whatever, just stay on the ceiling and I'll be right back."

Bucky ran out of the nursery towards the kitchen, where he knew they had a broom somewhere. Tony had told him, when he first moved in, that they didn't really need to clean the penthouse themselves, but Bucky liked the calm that doing simple chores brought him.

Hence the broom. Bucky had never been more thankful for his OCDs.

He was back in the nursery with his new ally in thirty seconds flat, and went straight up beneath Peter to explain his plan to him.

"Concentrate, _oomnitsa_. I'm going to poke you with the broom, okay, and you're going to jump in my arms. Or you can climb on the broom if you prefer, that seems like the kind of things you're into now. Just – try to work with me here, okay Petya? I think I hear your other dad getting up and that's not a good thing right now."

Peter was staring at him with his big brown eyes, and he repeated "Bah!" for good measure, which Bucky took for approval.

He raised the broom, and was millimetres from poking Peter with it when a shriek was heard from the doorway.

Bucky's eyes swivelled towards the sound, already wincing. He was so fucked.

"What – what the fuck is going on????" Tony shouted, panic clearly written over his features.

Oh, that was _bad_. Tony never swore when Peter was in the same room.

Before Bucky could even open his mouth, Tony's rambling syndrome took over.

"Oh my GOD what is he doing up there?? WHO put him up there??? WHO put my son on the ceiling?? I _knew_ there was something wrong when you said 'peachy', you _never_ say 'peachy', I was so right, oh my god. And what are you doing with a broom?? Bucky-babe what the DUCK are you doing with a broom???"

Tony looked like he was getting light-headed from a lack of oxygen, grabbing the door-jamb to steady himself. Bucky took the opportunity.

"Breathe, doll, and try not to pass out too hard, okay? I've got it under control."

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say.

"Under conTROL?? What exactly do you have under control?? Peter is on the ceiling, DARLING!"

Bucky was ready to defend himself when he heard the first signs of a sniffle coming from the ceiling.

Uh oh. That wasn't good. Bucky immediately turned to their son and tried to reassure him, keeping his voice low and even.

"Ssh, sh, don't cry, it's okay, we're not arguing, and we're getting you down, it's okay."

That left Tony a few moments to calm himself down, to come back from the edge of unconsciousness, and to get with the program.

Peter was back to smiling and Bucky was considering carrying on with his full-proof plan when the broom was suddenly taken away from his hands.

"Buckaroo, seriously. A broom?"

Bucky startled, and Tony tsked.

"What doll, you got a better idea?" Bucky asked, but his husband was already walking out of the room, broom taken hostage.

"Keep your eyes on Peter!" he heard Tony instruct from the other room, and Bucky immediately complied.

His genius husband was going to get them out of this situation.

Tony came back with a chair, and Bucky was _that_ close to bang his head on the wall. A chair. How could he not have thought of that??

Tony levelled a very unimpressed eyebrow at him, and Bucky just looked at him sheepishly.

"You're lucky you're so pretty," Tony told him, deadpan, but he softened the blow by pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's lips. "And now, we're getting our son back."

Tony put down the chair right under Peter, who had been intently watching them moving about for the last few minutes. Bucky gave him a stern look in case he tried something.

"Don't crawl away this time, Petya. Be still."

Peter gurgled in answer, and Tony got up on the chair. Bucky refrained from pointing out that Tony was kinda tiny, even with the chair, because he quite liked his sex life, thank you very much.

Tony stretched on his toes and thankfully succeeded in reaching their son. He grabbed Peter by the middle and tried to pull him down.

 _Tried_ being the keyword. Because Peter was sort of glued to the ceiling. Yep. That was their life.

"What?"

Tony pulled again gently, and Peter giggled when his hands and feet resisted.

"Bucky, I think I might pass out," Tony said, and Bucky jumped to steady him.

"Breathe, _kotyonok_. Breathe."

With Bucky's help, Tony took a few deep breath, still holding onto Peter, who was honestly being the most behaved baby the world had ever known. But it was probably a matter of minutes before his hunger woke up, and along with it his lack-of-food-induced tempers. Which were wholly justified, and quite relatable, in Bucky's opinion.

In any cases, something needed to be done to make everybody relax. And it was just about then that Bucky had a eureka moment.

What better way to relax than to sing Peter's favourite morning song? Bucky cleared his throat, and launched into the song.

"Good mornin', good mornin'! We've talked the whole night through, good mornin', good mornin' to you."

Tony looked at him, surprised, before smiling and singing along, the perfect counterpoint to Bucky's melody. Peter began to babble cheerfully as he listened to his dads' singing, and by the start of the chorus, one of his hands stopped sticking from the ceiling.

Tony gasped and tightened his hold, and Bucky nudged him so they didn't mess up the next couplet.

By the middle of the song, Peter had completely unstuck from the ceiling, and was safely back in Tony's arms. They went on with the singing to keep Peter smiling as Bucky helped Tony down the chair. It also helped that singing kept their brains from panicking about what had happened just yet.

But the song ended eventually, and they were left in the nursery with a bright-eyed Peter, who looked as if absolutely _nothing_ had happened whatsoever, just a regular run-of-the-mill Thursday morning walk on the ceiling, and a still shaking Tony, who for his part looked very close to tearing up.

Bucky took his husband in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on Tony's tense back. Everything was quiet for a beat, but Tony broke the silence with the now inescapable truth:

"I think we're gonna need to consult."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about Russian but here is what I found on the internet, don't hesitate to correct me about it!  
> Petya = affectionate diminutive of Pyotr, which is the equivalent of Peter  
> luchik = sunray, sunbeam  
> oomnitsa = clever one  
> kotyonok = kitten  
> Also the song is 'Good morning' from the musical Singing in the Rain, which is one of my favourite films ever, and it is honestly a great song to start the day with a smile.  
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help is sought, nerves are tested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have NO idea what I'm doing. I don't know if this is any good? Is it even remotely interesting? I'm winging it so much I might as well change into a pigeon. Also all of my limited Marvel knowledge comes from the MCU so I kinda extrapolated on stuff, just go with it. I hope you'll enjoy anyway!

"So let me get this straight. You're telling us that Peter – your son, Peter – uh, sticks?"

There was a pregnant pause, during which Tony realized the extent of the situation's ridiculousness.

Steve's quizzically raised eyebrows didn't help the matter.

The fact that Peter was _right there_ , looking _perfectly_ the part of the _completely_ _normal_ baby, with his angelic smile and big bright eyes, perched on Natasha's hip, was no great help either.

"Yeah, no offence you guys," Clint piped up from where he was sitting, cross-legged, on the communal kitchen's counter. "But our favourite Peter seems fine to me."

Bruce's hummed pensively, but looked like he agreed, and Natasha was busy conversing quietly with her nephew about a fly which had apparently caught Peter's eye.

Great. Convincing their friends that there was A Situation™ was proving to be _wayyy_ more complicated than expected.

Tony felt Bucky step closer to him, and  in the next second, he was  being pulled in his husband's arms,  the embrace giving  him  the support and encouragement he so desperately needed.  At least Bucky would always have his back.

"I know it sounds crazy, believe me I know,”  Tony pleaded . “But we're the  freaking  Avengers, aren't we? Weirder things have happened.”

"True." Steve conceded. "And I trust both of your judgements, I know you wouldn't freak out about just anything. But you gotta give us more than 'Help, our son sticks', Tony."

Tony winced.  It was true that th e ra mbling explanation he had thrown himself into, milliseconds after bursting in to the Tower's kitchen with Bucky and Peter, had not been his greatest moment – nor had it been the most intelligible speech he had given .

Before he could answer, however, Bucky spoke up.

"Thing is, punk, we can't give you ‘more’. Peter sometimes sticks to stuff and surfaces, for no apparent reason. That’s pretty much it."

"I know we're new at parenting," Tony interjected, "but we're not so bad  at it  as to let our son have the time of his life with  glue sticks  whenever he pleases . The penthouse is glue-less, apart from a tube in a cupboard far away from tiny baby hands. We checked the whole place. I've turned the  entire  thing in my head and there's only one explanation that makes sense, and it's terrifying."

Tony forced himself to stop and breathe, anxiety constricting his chest. He concentrated on the circles Bucky was reassuringly drawing on his lower back to stave off the panic, and swallowed before he went on, conscious of his teammates' curious – and increasingly worried – stares.

"We wanted Peter to have a normal life, but we're already ruining this. He's been targeted by one of our enemies. It's a curse – it _has_ to be a curse."

Silence fell, only broken when Peter lunged from Natasha's arms to  try and grab  the fly he ha dn’t let out of his sight . T ony’s heart  took  a swan dive  in his rib cage , but t he redhead caught  the mischievous toddler easily,  a  single,  quiet Russian expletive  the only evidence of  her surprise , and  she squeezed him against her side, tutting  disapprovingly .

At least, the event had the helpful consequence of clearing a bit of the tension in the room – even if it also had the less than helpful consequence of taking five years or so off of Tony’s lifespan.

Steve, ever the leader and strategist, was the first to recover and get the conversation back on track.

"I get how you would come to such a conclusion, but it doesn't completely make sense. We live a dangerous life, sure, and we haven't exactly kept your marriage and Peter's adoption secret, but our confrontations with villains have always been direct, with concrete threats and demands. Also, if this is a curse – it doesn't seem very dangerous?"

"Yeah," Natasha  agreed , looking deadly serious while  gently  bouncing Peter  i n her arms, "what would be the purpose of a curse like that? Apart from frightening both of you to death, it doesn't seem to do much."

"It might even  come in handy ," Clint cut in, and Tony braced hi m self for what the archer was about to say – it would either be extremely smart or extremely stupid. " Y ou c an just stick Peter anywhere like a post-it when you're tired of holding him up."

… extremely stupid, then. Tony sighed. He was pretty sure he had just heard Bucky make a noise of consideration. They were going to have _words_.

"I know, you guys, we thought about all this," Tony said with a tiny frown. "We know some stuff doesn't add up, but…"

Tony struggled a bit, and Bucky jumped in to the rescue.

"But we don't have any other lead for now. A curse is our best bet."

Another beat passed, and then Steve declared, his face hardened in his usual this-is-serious-business expression:

"Okay. If you say we treat it as a curse, then we treat it as a curse."

"Should we call Thor?" Bruce chimed in from where he was plunged in deep considerations. "He's busy in Asgard, but he might be able to ask Loki if he knows anything about someone putting a curse on Peter."

Clint made a noise of disagreement.

"Telling Loki about a potential vulnerability? Not sure that's the best way to go here."

"Last time I saw him, he was kind of redeeming himself, but I understand the reluctance," Bruce said, nodding.

"Tony," Natasha intervened, "I know you've already thought this out. What's your plan."

Tony sent a small smile her way. He loved that she knew him so well. He took a deep breath before answering.

"As much as I don't like it, there's only one person of our acquaintance that knows much about magic."

***

"Is he – is he laughing??"

Tony knew he sounded scandalized, but honestly, he felt like it was justified.

He and Bucky had gone all the way to the 177A Bleecker Street, bringing Peter along even though he was being a bit fussy – he always was when they left after seeing the other Avengers, Peter loved his aunt and uncles –, they had explained every painstaking detail of their ordeal – and with great calm, Tony felt like it needed to be pointed out –, only to get laughed in the face by Steven fucking Strange.

Tony  _reaaally_ hated magic.

"He's laughing. I'mma kill him," Tony fulminated through gritted teeth.

He was already plotting it in his head, a glorious and gruesome murder that would do wonders for his nerves. All he needed was a shovel. For dramatic impact.

"Calm down, doll," the soothing rumble of Bucky's voice sounded from his right. "Murder’s always best when planned in the calm."

Dear god, _that_ was why Tony had married this man. What a perfect specimen.

Tony settled for glaring daggers at the stupid magician with no facial hair originality for now, following his husband’s advice.

Strange, to his credit, had first listened to their problem without batting an eye, a speculative frown on his face, before he had asked to examine Peter closer – and it was then, when Strange had taken Peter's small hands in his own, that the hilarity had begun.

Just when Tony was starting to consider way-to-kill-the-annoying-wizard #236 as the way to go, Strange seemed to sober up a little. Still, an insufferable amused glint danced in his eyes when he told them, flatly:

“Your son hasn’t been cursed.”

“And so?” Bucky prompted when the magician – Tony categorically refused to call him sorcerer, even in his head – didn’t offer more information. “What’s causing the problems then?”

“Him,” Strange deadpanned, and then let out a startled shout when Tony lunged at him from his chair.

Bucky barely caught his husband before he could maim the wizard, struggling as he balanced Peter in his right arm and stopped Tony from earning himself a one-way ticket to jaily jail with his left.

“There’s nothing wrong with Peter!” Tony heard himself screaming, a small voice in the back of his brain reminding him that he had known that might turn out to be the next logical conclusion, and that he _might_ be overreacting. “Peter’s perfect the way he is, you wacky wizard!!”

“I never said him being the source of the problems was a problem,” Strange said, raising an eyebrow, and looking _way_ too calm for Tony’s liking.

That did, however, placate Tony a little, and he backed away – his brain continued calculating the best ways to dispose of the body, though.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you any further,” the magician went on, raising from his chair. “I’ve got an important meeting at Kamar-Taj. Just find someone to do a few blood tests and you should know what’s happening exactly.”

Tony shut out the following cursory pleasantries, mind reeling. When they had adopted Peter, six months ago, they had made sure he got all of the non-invasive tests that were recommended, to ascertain that he was in good health. And he was! Healthiest baby in the damn planet!

So what had changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to let me know what you thought! It might help with my ongoing crisis x)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shocking revelation I'm sure you haven't seen coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I'm back? For how long, nobody knows  
> Sorry for disappearing like that and coming back with such a short chapter - I still don't know if I like it myself -, but life got in the way and wouldn't budge  
> Hopefully it gets better and you'll still like this meager offering of mine

_Keep cool, Buck. Keep cool._ _Today is Tony’s panicking day_ , the super soldier reasons internally – for the third time in the last fifteen minutes.

He and Tony had established the rule of alternate panic days when they had first adopted Peter, on the premise that it was overall better if there was always at least one of them that had their shit together. In fact, they did not abide much by that rule, because you can’t predict a bad day even when you really wish you could, but the principle had stuck as a joke – and sometimes, as a surprisingly effective means to keep them calm and collected.

That day, Tony seemed like he needed all the refreshing, chill coolness he could get, and Bucky would be damned if he didn’t give his husband all the air-conditioning vibes he had.

Unfortunately, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t close to flipping his lid himself.

Bruce’s lab was nothing like Tony’s workshop. The workshop was mesmerizing, bright and loud and ceaselessly buzzing with life and creative energy. Bucky loved being down there, just hanging around, watching Tony work, poking his nose into his husband’s new projects with questions and remarks, playing fetch with the bots, or even working together with Tony on one of their shared vintage cars.

And lately, he would bring Peter along to have fun with the bots – they had got on famously from the get-go, and Bucky might at first have felt a tad bit dejected about them not even giving him the time of day when Peter was here, but then Tony reminded him that he himself had had to deal with his bots’ fickle favouritism when Bucky had first arrived so yeah, that was fair –, hold Peter up so he could play ‘catch the hologram’ with the highest ones, or settle in the worn-out couch and read their son a story, while Tony pretended not to listen and work until he eventually gave in and snuggled in with them for a nap.

The workshop was their space – to Bucky the word sounded like safety, love, and home.

Bruce’s lab, however… Bruce’s lab was another story.

It was in no way unwelcoming, with its soft lighting, splashes of greenery and soothing scent of tea, but. But it _was_ a lab, with needles and test tubes and beakers and funnels and weird concoctions and just overall not PTSD-friendly material.

Bucky knew he was being irrational, because Bruce was a friend, and had PTSD of his own, but Tony kept repeating him that irrational did not mean stupid, and that irrational fears were valid, so there. He was _not_ comfortable, but it was valid, and he would pull through in the end.

Tony caught his eye from where he stood besides Bruce at the lab’s workbench, the question clear in his gaze. _Do you need out?_

And just like that, Bucky could breathe easier. Tony had his back, and he could get out whenever he felt like he needed to. He sent his husband a grateful smile, and shook his head.

He wanted to be here, and hold his son’s hand, and help his husband keep it together. And maybe get some material to tease Tony about later. Bucky’s genius was fretting, unable to stand still, way past worried and well into overreacting-mother-hen mode. It was kind of adorable, if Bucky was honest with himself.

Bruce was being his patient self, Thor bless him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he steered a vibrating Tony towards the workbench, where a clueless Peter was sitting. The toddler was propped up against Bucky’s right arm, since he had not seemed very inclined to stay upright on his own when he had been placed on the tiled counter-top, pouting up at his father before letting himself fall backwards with a giggle, making Bucky scramble to catch him, panic shooting up through his veins.

Now though, Peter was being very good, listening with big, round eyes to his dad as Tony explained what was going to happen in a soft, soothing tone.

“Uncle Brucie is going to prick your finger with a small needle to take a look at your blood. It’s going to sting, but it’s going to be quick, and then it’ll be alright. You just hold on to your papa’s hand, okay? You can cry if you need to, it’s alright. But don’t be afraid, Petey-pie, we got you.”

Bruce stepped closer, showed Peter the tiny needle, disinfected the toddler’s middle finger with the gentle swipe of a soaped and soaked cotton ball, and pricked the pad of the small finger in the same movement.

All in all, the affair lasted but a few seconds, and Peter was frowning at his finger, looking like he didn’t know if the finger did hurt or if it had already stopped hurting. He looked up to his father with a pout and let out a small, almost confused sob. Bucky’s heart squeezed at the sound, but Tony already had it covered, picking up Peter and cradling him in his arms, praising him for his courage all the while.

But Bucky felt himself be unexpectedly and harshly pulled by the hand as Tony hoisted Peter up. He yelped – he wasn’t proud of it, okay – as the sudden movement made him tumble forward until he almost crashed into his husband and son, but he managed to steady himself by latching onto Tony.

Tony, who was looking at him like he had gone completely mad. And well – fair enough. Bucky himself had no idea what had just happened. A grown man did _not_ fall forward for no reason whatsoever.

He looked down, registering Tony’s hand soothingly stroking Peter’s curls, their son’s subsiding sniffles sounding from where his head was buried in Tony’s shoulder, and his own metal index finger, still clasped firmly in Peter’s small hand.

Understanding fell on Bucky like the wall of a crumbling building – and yes, he _did_ know how it felt, he had the right to use his experience for overdramatic analogies.

He caught Tony’s eyes and mouthed the word _sticky_ , trying to exaggerate the syllables as much as he could. Fortunately, his genius of a husband understood immediately, and his eyes widened in surprise at the realization. Still holding Peter up, Tony reached down to try and see if their son’s hand was indeed glued to Bucky’s finger.

But Peter removed his hand willingly when Tony took it in his own, the toddler’s chubby fingers utterly unsticky and latching on his dad’s shirt.

“Petey’s ability to stick does not seem to be the problem here,” Tony murmured, taking care to keep his voice even and soothing.

Bucky took his eyes off his husband and son to take a closer look at his metal hand.

“It sure did not feel like my finger was stuck to Petya, more like he… I don’t know, pulled me to himself or something?”

“No offence, Buckaroo, but you’re two hundred pounds of solid muscle. I physically can’t make you move when you don’t want to and you damn well know it. You’re the human equivalent of a truck, darling, and our _tesorino_ is a _baby_.”

Bucky couldn’t help the amused smile that Tony’s words elicited. He may have used his size and bulk as a barrier between his husband and coffee more than once – not to mention that it _did_ come to handy whenever they wanted to spice up their sex life.

“I mean, it could still be the stickiness?” Bucky offered, thoughtful. “The first time he was glued to you, it stopped completely randomly, didn’t it? That could be it. Peter might have stopped being stuck to my finger just seconds before you pried him off.”

“Hmm. Could be. But I still feel like something’s off.”

“Uh, guys?” Bruce’s voice drew their attention to the other end of the lab, where their friend had been analysing the drop of blood taken from Peter’s finger through some sort of advanced microscope. “You might want to see this.”

Bucky exchanged a look with Tony and took Peter from him to let the genius scurry over to Bruce, his eyes immediately finding and riveting themselves to the screen of the computer where the microscope transmitted its images.

Bruce was already explaining the results – probably more for Bucky’s sake, who was well versed in mathematics and physics, but could admit that he didn’t exactly care about biology:

“Peter’s DNA seems to no longer be _only_ his. Some cells present human characteristics, but some just _don’t_. It should be impossible, but they look like they’re arachnoid cells?”

“Does it mean what I think it means?” Bucky asked, grimacing as he stroked Peter’s back with his free hand. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he added under his breath.

The toddler wriggled in his arms, and Bucky tightened his hold a little. Peter had an odd tendency to leap these days.

Tony straightened up and turned towards Bucky, his face pale. When he spoke, his voice was distant, like his brain was already busy processing a thousand more questions at once.

“Our son’s a spider.”

And then Tony proceeded to pass the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Till next time! Gasp in the comments if you didn't expect the totally unexpected revelation

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Take care and stay safe, everyone <3


End file.
